gijoe1313's Blogs

Salutations and hail to thee my personable reader, I am back again with yet another interminable rendition of my eclectic ways of using my bike at any excuse.

I must say it was not a very big riding day for me, nor was there much in my day except to enjoy the delivery of a package I had ordered from the internet. 1 day sales is a most disarming site that induces you to willy-nilly open your wallet and purchase the delightful products on offer.

In this case, I put in an order for two collapsible rods with reels included.

Imagine my delight when I was roused from a mid-day slumber by the pop-pop noise of the local courier man (forgive me for the exaggeration, but since the courier is of Indian nationality, it reminds me of the ubiquitous tuk-tuks that ply their trade with gay abandon). I was handed a rather longish white cardboard box that was remarkably light for its stature.

Ahh, of course, the delivery of my aforementioned rod and reel! Imagine my surprise when on inspection, the actual product exceeded my expectations! In this day and age! My my! With the speed of a voracious predator pouncing on prey in the Serengeti, I packed tackle, bait and the new rod and reel into my pack and off on the bike I tootled melodiously towards Maraetai. The sun was high over the yard arm and I was the only affirmed amateur angler on the pier jutting into the briny blue green.

A gentle breeze caressed my face, my lucky camo fishing hat slouched at a rakish angle upon my noggin and just the dulcet tones of water lapping on the shore. Concealed within that briny blue green were my hidden adversaries, daring me to do my best to engage them in mortal combat.

With a hey and a ho, I quickly set my tackle to work and the first line with baited mullet on the hooks dunked in with a satisfying splash. It was barely seconds in the water when I made a strike, and the game was afoot! The satisfying tug of the rod in my hands as I played the line in was the opening refrain in a duel to the death. As the line twitched from side to side and the action of the reel rolled the final credits, the unfortunate first victim was landed. Twitching with silver scales glinting, tail flapping, the noise of it’s earnest struggles a tap tap tapping … it yielded to my gargantuan hand closing around it’s delicate body and I brutally removed the incisive reason for its land based doom.

With baited hooks I plonked the line in and out, strikes and nibbles filled my afternoon with a chorus of plunder, the fish stocks of pilchard, mackerel and yellowtail being decimated by my callous and murderous ways.

Eventually company joined me, two young lads in their salad days had apparently made off with their mum’s smoked chicken for bait, and their dad’s fresh water tackle equipment! I watched from a neutral point as they struggled to do the basics, they could not cast, they could not bait, they did not catch any fish. At this stage, some chinese anglers with family in tow came to try their hand at the killing fields.
Now, as most that know me, my day job is actually an educator by trade, I try to impart the graces of grammar, spelling and proper enunciation of the English language as my main repartee. I could not stand idly by and allow these urchins to pursue their mangling of the fine art of fishing, so I piped up my two cents and asked if I could be of any personable assistance. Wise lads they were and replied honestly “Sir, we have absolutely no idea what to do!” So under my wing I took them, I allowed them to use my rod to experience the vicarious thrill of taking life from the sea whilst instructing them on the art of knots, traces, swivels, hooks and the basics of how to wrest victory from the jaws of the sea.

It gave me a contented internal glow when they applied their knowledge and began to haul in their share of the bounty of the sea. Like the old adage goes, give a fish to a man and he eats for a day, teach him how to fish and he can feed his family for life. I do so hope they pursue fishing in the future and hope to maybe run across them one day and see how they have progressed. But, I digress, with murder on my mien, a furrowed brow knitted with concentration, I resumed my tussle with the creatures of the deep. Some leaped and escaped at the last moment, double strikes and a treble with one escaping at the last moment all were part of the action, I could tell from the chagrin on the chinamen’s face that they had no bites in the time I had my haul from Davy Jones Locker.

At the end when I bid everyone a fond farewell and cheerio, there were 15 fishies bereft of fishy life clapped into my catch bin. Three were of good eating size, the rest to be used in a murderous dance to catch their bigger cousins. My evil and diabolical ways knows no limits or bounds!

Oh yes, the good people on the jetty were well surprised I did this from a bike, my telescopic rod of fishy doom was indubitably impressive in its first foray into hostile waters. I rode home with a vim and vigour that allowed me to look forward to the next battle. A battle that shall pit my time, patience and wits against the leviathans that infest the murky, deeper waters.

And now my fishy tale comes to a close, thank you dear reader for my indulgence into the gentle art of fishing, or to wit, a day of riding with some instructional guidance to some keen fishermen to be and the successful conclusion to throwing a line out into the water with the abeyance of bad weather and no bites.

Oh yes, my Big Ol'Hornet ticked over 70 000km of travel around our fair and green lands, must remember to do a service booking to ensure such grace and performance exerts a consistency I am accustomed to!

Your angling antagonist of the salty waters
gijoe1313